But first let me take a selfie

I am a selfie slut. I say this in all earnestness. I’m sure if I spent time with my nose in some college or doctoral textbook I’d come up theories around why I do this; some childhood event that took place that left the inner child starving for attention and subjecting the rest of the internet to my wounded self-esteem.  There are days when I for real think my eyebrows are on point, my hair is perfectly in place, and my eyes are deep and Spanish and brown and you wish you had them - I can count those days on one hand. The true true of things [that’s not a mistake, watch/read Cloud Atlas] is that on any given day I look in the mirror and see a troll looking back at me. Smeagol stands there each day with that nasty toothless smile and ratty-ass hair saying “Morning precious-es.” My would-be vanity is a thin veil for some passive-aggressive attempt to trick you into saying some shit like “Oh girl, you’re so smart and funny and pretty.” It’s fucking gross the neediness I still harbor in this otherwise dark and charcoal heart. I’d kick my own ass on the playground for being a pussy. So why bring this up? So glad you asked!

                This afternoon I was driving to pick up my spawn from the designated meeting spot selected by the Lord of the Underworld formerly known as my ex-husband, and I passed this vehicle on my left. That’s a lie. They passed me; I’m so damn competitive I can’t even let them win in a blog. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed this semi-attractive woman [gorgeous] adjusting her hair for the photo she was fixing to take of her and her man riding around in their black BMW. Now, the make and model of the car is irrelevant as people can’t see it [mostly except for the fact that it’s better than mine] but what was poignant was the duck face I witnessed and the perfect hair, olive skin tone, and flawless features. Probably 24 and probably Mediterranean, it was hate at first sight. I began breaking her down instantaneously. Without a second thought, autopilot kicks in and I begin dismantling her character and that of the man she’s with as well. This is where the average person grows a conscience and evaluates their thoughts and actions. Nope. Not me. Secretly [or out loud in my car, because that’s my “safe” place to say shit out loud] I am angry she has long, thick and luxurious hair and I pray she burns herself while flat ironing that shit for the hour that she does every morning. Girls like that are high maintenance. I may be mean and crazy, but she takes 4 hours to go to 7-11 on any given day.

                Most of the selfies I take are either with my offspring, with a furry friend of the animal variety, because I stopped hanging out with humans who leave the house wearing stupid outfits [jail and sanitariums are real] or extremely self-defeating. A selfie where I’m sweating like a pig and have one eye open looking like the other got taken out by buckshot; those are my go-to selfies.  Group selfies are good; they prove I have people in my life that still have enough faith in me to be seen out in public with me. Self-esteem is a slippery slope. I either have none at all or I have more than my fair share. I don’t mean to subject the internet to my face; it’s the inner child asking to hold hands and sing kumbaya - to feel a part of rather than apart from. Nah...I’m just a selfie slut!